


Fire Away

by Avleveri



Series: Strings Attached [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Case Fic, Connor Deserves Happiness, Established Relationship, Feelings, Flowers, Fluff, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Hurt and comfort, M/M, SO GAY, Sumo remains the goodest boy, WIP, lots of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-30 04:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15744663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avleveri/pseuds/Avleveri
Summary: Sequel to Warning: Strings Attached featuring more feels and the good boys being good. Low on plot sometimes but high on feelings and that’s what im here for really I hope you are too





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shurely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shurely/gifts).



> Connor takes Hank to the park to look at the flowers. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta bae Shurely for dealing with my bombardment of messages at all hours

 

  
The alarm clock resting on Hank’s bedside table reminded him that it had been 5 days, 1 hour and 59 minutes since he had walked in on his partner playing the guitar. It was also a Saturday night, which meant that he wouldn’t have to wake the large sleeping form beside him for another 8 and a half hours. He lay still on his side watching as his partner’s chest rose and sunk with the breath of a man in deep sleep, listening to the low hum of his snoring as he purred in time with Sumo on the floor.  
  
—-  
  
Hank rose to the smell of bacon wafting through to his bedroom and a dull ache in his knees as he sat up, rubbing his face in some attempt to further regain consciousness. Fuck, he was getting old. In response to the movement, a groggy Sumo managed to plomp himself unceremoniously upon his chest, forcing a loud groan from his owner, and a reluctant smile.  
  
“G’mornin’ you fat old dog”, He rumbled, loaded with affection. This was the best thing to wake up to, he decided. Connor appeared at the door, dressed already in some dark shorts and an old t shirt. His hair was a little ruffled and damp - must have taken Sumo out already.  
  
“Good morning, Lieutenant. Breakfast is ready, if you would like to join me in the kitchen.” He sounded calm, but the glint in his eye suggested something devious at hand, a cue which had taken Hank no time at all to recognise.  
  
“Alright. Come on then boy.” He heaved the dog out of his lap with surprising ease, grabbed his hoodie draped over the chair and shuffled into the kitchen, forcing out a yawn as he went.  
  
He hesitated as he looked into the kitchen, before the realisation dawned on him; it was his birthday.  
  
“Happy birthday, Hank. I hope you don’t mind, I got you something to celebrate, and I have planned to spend the day with you, if that’s alright,” He looked at the ground - was Connor nervous? His heart pounded.  
  
He hadn’t celebrated his birthday in years. Hell, he wasn’t even sure when it was. He looked at Connor, then the pancakes, and in a couple of seconds he had wrapped his arms around him in thanks. Of course he didn’t know how to actually respond, but the reassuring squeeze his partner gave in return was enough to tell the message had been received.  
  
“You’re breakfast is getting cold, Hank,” Connor whispered.  
  
“Mmm. Don’t care.” Reluctantly detaching from his partner, Hank grabbed his hand and pulled him back around to the kitchen table, sitting down as Connor perched on his lap in front of him. He manages to awkwardly navigate around the android sitting on his legs enough to tuck into the breakfast with one hand. The other remained firm around Connor’s side.  
  
—  
  
Belle-Isle Park was empty; it was still winter, the snow soft and thick beneath Hank’s heavy boots. They walked together, Connor’s arm entwined with his, for a long while, watching as the birds fluttered around their heads, listening as the sounds of the city grew quieter. Small patches of white and yellow flowers pushed their way through the snow, catching Hank’s attention.  
  
His LED flashed yellow, processing the information as he read it aloud.  
“Crocus flowers are hardy plants which can bloom in the late winter, and are undamaged by snow and particularly cold temperatures. They-“

  
“Yeah, I know.” Hank sighed. His face was drawn into a frown, his eyes glistening, sad.  
  
“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” His LED was red now, concern carving into his features. His partner had not moved his eyes away from the flowers.  
  
He sighed again. “Yeah.” He steadied himself. “Cole used to love flowers, learned the names and the meanings of all of ‘em. Got a book somewhere with the ones he kept. He said the yellow ones mean happiness, and that if he were a flower that’s what he’d be, and he would sit in our garden every day so that I’d smile when I saw ‘em.” He gulped, briskly running the back of his hand across his face. “Shit, sorry kid.”  
  
Connor paused, reflective. He was still holding onto Hank, processing his words.  
  
“Cole, like coal to fuel fire. Brings warmth and illuminates.” He paused. Hank looked at him, unsure.  
  
“I know I did not know him, Hank. But I know he changed you, guided you to be a better man.” He paused again. “Staying strong in the snow, proud and bright... He chose the perfect flower."  
  
A slow tear traced its way down his cheek as Connor pulled him down into a hug. He didn’t care if Connor saw him cry. Hell, he didn’t care who was watching. He felt his body soften, the warmth radiating from his partner calming his mind. Connor had never said anything like that before, so raw and perceptive. He wondered how he always knew the right words to say, delivered with such emotion, such humanity, it shook him to his very core. He straightened, composing himself as best he could.  
  
“Let’s go home.”  
  
—  
  
Sumo trotted over to his legs as he walked through the door, hanging up his scarf and scratching gently behind his ears.  
  
They had walked back in silence, holding tightly onto each other as they walked through town. Connor walked over to the bedroom, swapping his coat for a large hoodie covered in Sumo’s finest dog hairs. He liked how it smelt of home. He grabbed the guitar perched on the wardrobe.

"Are you ready for your present now, Lieutenant?" He called, a smile tinging the words.  
  
Hank looked up, finding him standing in the hall with his guitar, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. His eye were puffy, his face freezing cold from the walk, but he found that he hadn’t felt so _warm_ in as long as he could remember.    
  
“Go on then.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot? Is it really an actual plot? Hank and the con boy go to a house and meet a scary looking frankenbot the end

Work was particularly busy today, human and android detectives weaving around the precinct with bundles of paperwork in their hands.

 

“Anderson. Connor. Suspect has been located here-“ Fowler handed him a screen as the location appears, “Bring him in - Christ knows I’ve got enough on my plate without Reed beating the shit out the damn thing before we get any information out of it.” Fowler rustled the paperwork on his desk, cradling his head in one hand. Hank knew the stress he was under, trying to incorporate the new androids into a very reluctant team. They left his office in silence.

——

Connor knew the case well; multiple androids with lost limbs, scattered across the city, bleeding out. It called itself “The Collector”, a signature written in blue blood across the floor beside each body. He remembered how Hank had reeled in shock at the photograph, how he himself grew uncomfortable at the sight of a man with his face, an RK900, dead on the floor. They drove to the location in silence.

  
  
  


“Stay behind me, got it?” Hank barked the order at him as the approached a house, guns raised. A strange location to find such a character - small, suburban home on an otherwise quiet street. It registered briefly that this place belonged to the android’s first owners, who left soon after the revolution. The street lamps illuminated the driveway as the Lieutenant moved ahead.

——

He’d looked at the photograph in the file absentmindedly, as one looks at a drawing of a fictional monster; registering the fear it would provoke if real, then tucking that fear behind the safe knowledge that it didn’t, and wouldn’t exist. But this was different. The machine in front of him was huge, tall, slender and stern. It didn’t take a genius to know why he was called “the collector” - every part of his body was different to another, from a different android, soldered together like some sort of metallic Frankenstein’s monster. The Lieutenant stared. He found the android sitting, calmly, at a small kitchen table.

 

“Detroit Police! You’re under arrest for-“ Before he could finish his words, the android had him by the throat, dangling from the air. He threw him across the kitchen, knocking him out in one deft sweep. “Connor-”

 

“Quiet, old man.” The words rattled off the walls, tinny and harsh, as if multiple voices were speaking them at once. He sat down again.

 

——

 

He heard the impact as soon as it happened, called for backup immediately. Then he started running.

 

He burst through the door, no longer caring about the case. The new mission registering in his view was far more important: Find Hank.

 

He turned the corner of the hallway, gun raised, as he caught sight of the large frame at the kitchen table: dimly lit, but unmistakable. The parts of seven RK900, one TR400, one PL600 and 4 SQ800; a body designed for strength and endurance, as well as speed. It grinned as Connor stepped forward.

 

“Here he is everyone, the one RK800.” It scanned his body, looking Connor over as if to size him up mentally. 

 

The Lieutenant was lying against the wall, cold. Connor scanned him, checking for signs of life, and found a pulse. Slow, but steady. 

 

“Do you confess to taking the lives of thirteen innocent andr-“

 

A body slammed into him, hard. He was forced backwards, head slammed against the floor, sliding closer and closer towards the Lieutenants body across the tiles. When he stopped, it climbed on top of him, holding him down. It’s dark face stared back at him, mouth grotesquely manipulated into another grin, teeth bared. Connor tried to move, but he was pinned: the android held his arms above his head with a single hand, its legs straddling his torso.

 

“We are so glad to meet you, Connor. You are the last piece of our collection…” The words hissed as he moved his hands over Connor’s chest, over his Thirium pump. He laughed, and paused. His voice changed, singling out a voice Connor recognised in an instant.

 

“Our hearts are compatible.”

 

No. He stopped moving. His LED was blaring red, illuminating the manic creature on top of him. The skin faded out across its chest, its own hands clawing out the Thirium pump within.

 

“Han- HANK!” Connor called out, hoarse and desperate, a whisper. There was no movement beside him, causing a sensation which felt like panic to rise up through his body. The machine above him reached into his chest and pulled.

 

The next few things happened in rapid succession. A rush of pain around his body. A countdown starting. A smashing of windows. A relief as a body rolled off his own. A loud shot. Another. Arms tugging at his body, slapping his face. A beat, as his Thirium pump was restored. Another. His eyes opened, then closed again.

 

A hand entwined with his own.

 

—-

 

When he came around again, he was lying in Hank’s bed. He looked down at himself, bloody but alive. The skin around his Thirium pump was gone, the silver form of the plates around his chest glistening as the sun peeked behind the curtains and struck them. He registered a weight on his legs. Sumo. Voices were muttering outside his room, getting louder as the forms of Reed and Chen materialised in the doorway.

 

“Looks like the plastic prick has decided to join us after all.” Reed’s words were harsh, but his voice was soft. The bags under his eyes seemed darker than usual and the anger in his expression was replaced by fatigue. Chen moved forward, sitting beside him on the bed.

 

“That android is dead. Anderson shot it just as we got there. I managed to restore your pump, then we brought you back home.” She smiled briefly, then looked at Reed, leaning on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “He won’t say it, but we’re glad you’re alright.” She squeezed his hand, offering another tentative smile. Hank appeared at the doorway, a silent cue for Chen and Reed to move back into the kitchen.

 

——-

 

“Hey,” he tried. He walked in rigidly, body tensing in pain. Four cracked ribs, two broken fingers and a mild concussion. Heart rate slightly elevated, body temperature warmer than usual. He sat down next to Connor and winced as his legs bent beneath him.

 

“How are you feeling, Lieutenant?”

 

He snorted. Of course he asked about his sorry old ass before registering the fact that he had almost fucking died. His eyes met Connor’s before taking in his bare white chest stained with blue, and the small vibration of the pump pulsing beneath it.

 

“Alive, I guess.” He muttered, a small smile curving his face into an expression of relief. His eyes were glossy, as he reached to place his arm across the bed. Connor picked up his arm, bringing it up towards his face before planting a small kiss across his knuckles.

 

“Me too. Thank you Hank.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this, it was a paaaain to write. I feel like my mind is only capable of providing me with cute fluff ideas?? I tried tho so comment if you want 
> 
> Also did I kill Simon accidentally? Maybe, maybe


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more fluff (sigh) featuring a little Simon/Markus? What’s that? I cant just keep writing self-indulgent fluff constantly with limited angst and no smut? 
> 
>  
> 
> SORRY

Consciousness rattled through his torso with the pained cough which forced him awake that morning. He looked over, noticing two things at once: firstly, it was almost midday, and secondly, Connor was not next to him. His ribs ached, and his head stung.

 

Easing himself out of bed and around the sleeping dog by his feet (how a dog required so much sleep after doing so little, he couldn’t understand) he stepped into the living room. The windows let in enough sunlight to tell him the weather was good, but not enough for him to gather any warmth from it. He shivered, the movement causing him to wince, and headed for the painkillers. There was no movement from inside the house, as he sunk into Connor’s armchair, reclining as the air blew in from the window above his head.

 

He must have dozed off again, because the next time his eyes opened they saw Connor, standing at the kitchen sink, washing his hands. He looked up as he registered the movement, turning to Hank as he dried himself off. Slow music was playing in the background, from an old CD player he didn’t even realise he owned. More Chris Stapleton. He didn’t mind.

 

“Good afternoon, Hank.” He walked behind the chair, before wrapping his arms around his partner’s shoulders and pressing his lips into his neck.

 

“Mmm. Great one, if you ask me.” The Lieutenant smiled, looking around to Connor before pulling his face towards him to leave a long kiss on his lips. He felt Connor’s body loosen in response, before unfurling himself to help Hank out of his seat. He moved slowly, wincing again at the pain in his ribs, before straightening up as best he could. Connor’s hands reached for his.

 

“I have a surprise for you,” he stated, LED flashing yellow briefly, quietly betraying the calm in his tone, “but I’m afraid you’ll need some shoes.”

 

Hank grunted in response, carefully pulling his ugly brown slippers on his feet. He wasn’t awake enough to register any excitement or surprise, but luckily still functional to notice the change in Connor’s LED. He didn’t worry about it.

 

It was still winter, and he secretly hoped this surprise wouldn’t take too long, already thinking about collapsing on the sofa with a blanket, Connor by his side. Warm hands wrapped around his arm as Connor lead them both out the door. The drive was icy, despite the sunlight’s best attempts to bring spring around, the road around them silent. Hank registered the cold air, the ice. And then, the flowers, three bunches of colour separated by dark soil lining the fence by the door.

 

Connor was looking at him now, LED cycling yellow, analysing. He had hoped that Hank would like this, that it wouldn’t bring back the sad nostalgia that still plagued Hank’s mind. It had always been a risk, talking about or even hinting towards his son, and this was definitely the boldest he had been. Things had been getting better, especially since their walk through the park. Hank looked around. Yellow crocuses, peaking out of their buds, small but beautiful against the white snow and the dark earth. A rose bush, promising the emergence of deep pink flowers with the one remaining flower perched tentatively at the top of its stem. And then, on the other side of the crocuses, Edelweiss flowers, tiny white stars with deep green stems, small but bright even amongst the snow.

 

“I thought the garden could use some brightening up.” Connor spoke in a soft voice, still apprehensive of Hank’s reaction. He watched as his partner took them in, swallowing as he pulled Connor into a firm hug.

 

“It’s… It’s great, Connor. Crocuses... for my boy. Edelweiss, adventure and courage. Roses, too.” he hesitated, as Connor looked up at him, a faint smudge of blue tainting his face.

 

“Jesus, you’re a sap Connor. Make an old man grin like a fuckin’ ape at some goddamn flowers.” He brushed thumb along his partner’s jaw, an expression of affection in his eyes. He looked at Connor the way he had when he saw him at the Chicken Feed, standing in the cold those months ago. Connor knew that look now.

 

“Do you know what the roses are for, Hank?” Connor was whispering now, his face getting bluer. Hank could almost feel the apprehension in his partner as he held him. He stroked his face again, sighing.

 

“Well, uh..” He pulled away, grabbing the back of his neck in a gesture Connor had filed away as mild embarrassment. “Pink ones for uh… gratitude, admiration, I guess.”

 

Connor’s face lit up as he watched his partner dance around the meanings in his mind. He had preconstructed his words for this moment, but they didn’t appear in his sight when they usually did. He answered instead with a smile, before bringing Hank’s knuckles to his lips again.

 

“Yes, Lieutenant.” They both smiled, sharing the secret that only they knew.

——

 

Two weeks had passed since taking down the Collector, since he had found that the sick creature stealing the parts and voices of others. A simple message from Simon the day after confirmed that he hadnt been taken from him as he had feared, that it was all some sick trap meant only for Connor.

 

The flowers had been a success, or at least, that’s how it felt to Connor. After asking Simon to help him choose the right plants, how to look after them, and how to ensure their growth through the seasons, he felt quietly proud of what he had done. He knew he could have just searched for the information himself, but there was something about spending time with Simon that calmed him down, especially now that he could see him again, safe, after thinking he was lost forever. He cherished the interactions they shared, and asking for the help in person added a certain amount of intimacy and dependence. It made him feel more human. He liked that feeling.

 

They had sat on the floor of Simon’s small apartment, lined with plants, books and a couple of paintings - Markus’ paintings. It was a beautiful home, minimalist and functional, yet completely Simon. They looked through old botanical journals and small sketches of plants, accompanied by lists of facts, numbers and other notes written in small, precise letters.

 

Simon didn’t ask what the flowers were for: he knew that behind Connor’s brown eyes was something he couldn’t ask about, nor could he understand fully. At least he was helping his friend, that he was happy. But Connor, perceptive as he was built to be, knew the questions clouding Simon’s mind.

 

“Can I ask you a personal question, Simon?” Connor’s voice was calm, his head tilted slightly to the left in curiosity.

 

“Of course, Connor. You have known me for long enough now to not need to ask!” He smiled warmly at his friend. “What’s on your mind?”

 

Connor didn’t know anyone who had been deviant as long as Simon. His expressions were so human, his voice so light and carefree, that without the LED flashing at his temple he could deceive almost anyone.

 

“I know that you enjoy gardening. I was wondering, is it because of your programming as a PL600 that you do? Or is it a trait which you developed after becoming deviant?”

 

Simon looked back at him, pensive. He smiled to himself, a knowing smile suggesting a joke shared with only himself.

 

“You know Connor, I’ve given this some thought. Before I woke up, I didn’t feel anything at all. I couldn’t tell you how I felt about gardening, because I couldn’t tell you how I felt about anything. All I know, is that I like it now, whether I was built for it or not.” He paused. “There are many things I wasn’t built for that I love to do just as much as working with plants. And if anything, it feels as though I was made for another purpose, sometimes.” He looked up at a painting on his wall. The large canvas hung in the centre of the otherwise plain expanse of his flat: two eyes looking out from a face of determination, painted in bright blues, whites and oranges. Connor recognised it, a painting in the style of Carl Manfred, Markus’ previous owner. He looked up at Simon, still looking at the painting. His expression was vaguely sad, eyes shimmering blue as Hank’s sometimes did when reminiscing. He looked at Connor then, the feelings melting from his face as he composed himself.

 

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Simon. It was not my intention.” Connor shuffled over to his side, resting his arm on Simon’s shoulder in the way that Hank did to offer support and reassurance. “ I just asked because sometimes I think that my true purpose is not to be a detective at all, even if I was built for it.”

 

“I understand. It’s okay, Connor. We are free now: Markus made sure of that. He said that we could choose our own purpose, our own path, regardless of design.” He paused, sighing. His expression became pained once more at the memory of his friend. Connor looked at him, offering his hand out. Simon took it, skin fading away as he shared his memories with Connor.

 

Memories of Markus, exclusively, flashed through his mind, submerging his thoughts into pure warmth. Their first meeting, his speech, Jericho, the protests, small smiles and hugs and their first kisses and-

 

Simon took his hand away, scared he had shown too much. He blushed blue.

 

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Silence for a moment. Simon looked back up at Connor, smiling sadly. Everything he had felt from their connection resonated through Connor like a buzz, before a wave of calm allowed him to ground himself in the present once more. He recognised the feelings Simon had showed him as his own, but directed to someone else.

 

His face tinged blue as he realised, before burning bluer at the at the knowledge that he had just shared the same feelings and memories of Hank, with Simon. The affectionate smiles. His hand in Connor’s. The guitar, the singing, the flowers. Cole. Walking in the snow. Everything. He shuffled back.

 

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean for you to see that.” Connor whispered, eyes concentrated on his hands in his lap.

 

Simon smiled, happiness flooding his face.

 

“I’m glad for you,” He chuckled in disbelief, before clapping Connor on the shoulder, “Now let’s go and get these plants, shall we?”

 

——

 

The rest of the day was quiet. Hank was playing the guitar and humming a song Connor knew well, before putting it down to take a sip of coffee. Connor watched him, curled under a blanket on the sofa.

 

“Since when did you start gardening then, eh?”

 

“Since you started playing the guitar in secret.” Connor smirked at his attempt at sassiness, before realising the desired effect had not been accomplished as Hank stared back at him with a stern expression. He looked away and coughed awkwardly, a completely Hank mannerism, before starting again.

 

“I asked Simon. He is very good with plants, and is a good friend. He helped me select them, and showed me how to look after them. He is very… loving.”

 

Hank raised his eyebrows at that. Connor noticed his body temperature rise a fraction, as his eyes wandered across the room, meeting everything except Connor’s eyes.

 

“Listen, uh. I get it. It’s okay if you want to hang out with Simon, and uh. Shit. Maybe it’s best for you to be with someone of your own.. you know. I’m just old and Jesus, you can do so much better and I-“

 

Connor picked up on his meaning quickly. Hank had become restless, fidgeting with his mug of coffee, getting up from his seat and walking over to the kitchen. He was flustered, hands fumbling through his hair and down his neck. He sighed as he reflected on the number of times Hank had used his habit of self-loathing as a reason for their partnership to be fundamentally flawed.

 

Connor got up immediately and stood in front of him in the kitchen.

 

“I haven’t been clear. He is my friend, Hank, only my friend.” Connor’s face lit up as Hank looked at him again, confusion still set in his expression. “You thought we were romantically involved, and-“

 

“Uh. S’just you hang out with him quite a bit and… Shit, I don’t know Connor, he’s kind and great and young and-“ The amusement made Connor’s eyes twinkle, as he realised his partner was making the same mistake that he once had in jumping to conclusions unnecessarily. He held back the laugh which was bubbling inside him.

 

“Lieutenant. Hank. He was helping me do something for you. There is no romantic attachment. There is nobody else.” His hands entwined with Hank’s, as the tension left his shoulders. Connor knew the depth of meaning to his words as soon as they rushed out of his mouth. The emotions Connor experienced through Simon, the emotions he was now experiencing for Hank. His face dropped, fearing he had said too much or Hank’s reaction. He sighed needlessly. Hank leaned his head against his own, his broad frame slumping again in relaxation.

 

“Hank, there is nobody else.”

 

“I know, Connor. Jesus, I know.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Simon’s defo dead that mean chap imitated his voice  
> Simon: hi  
> Connor: :o
> 
> I hope you liked this, feel free to comment cos I am thirsty for feedback
> 
> I also have tumblr now if you want to find me it’s mainly DBH so avleveri
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank teaches Connor the guitar! I love Sumo a lot as you can tell but i hope someone reads and likes this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's end this beast on a high note (pun intended)

“No. You have to hold it like this, and the strap goes around-" Hank flapped around Connor, adjusting the tattered leather strap around the android, pulling up the sleeves of his navy bathrobe in some physical demonstration of determination. Connor wasn’t much help, concentrating solely on the awkwardly placed guitar in his arms.

When Hank was content that Connor was as comfortable as he was going to be, he sat down next to him, legs hanging off the side of the bed. He pulled his hair up with a thin hairband, tucking the stray strands behind his ears. The apparent effort made him huff out a quick breath, before looking back at Connor on his right.

The sun coming from behind them seemed to illuminate him, his LED circling a calm blue as he arranged his hands on the neck of the guitar. Hank looked at him for a second, noting the focused pout on his partners face as he attempted a chord. The light seemed to render his skin more translucent, as if the lines of his plastic frame became more visible. He looked great. As this thought registered, Connor looked back up at him, a stray curl of hair flicking across his face.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No.” he chewed, “Well yeah. Your pinky is supposed to be on this string, not this one. Look.”

He poked Connor’s finger and propped it up on the string above with his own. He wondered absently at how Markus seemed to be able to play the piano faultlessly, as he had shown at Carl’s birthday a few years ago, when Connor couldn’t even hold the damn guitar upright against him. Perhaps he was doing it for Hank’s benefit, some way to get them to spend yet more of their time together. Fuckin’ android.

Connor continued to strum through the chord, following it up with others he had been working on. It had been two weeks since he came up with this genius idea. He had known how easy it would be to download the necessary protocols to learn guitar on his own, but the Lieutenant had obvious skill with the instrument, so it made sense that he be the one to teach him. That, and the fact he couldn’t resist another opportunity to show off in front of his partner. However, the task was proving to be much harder than he had predicted. Hank seemed content at his progress, but Connor had a mission to complete.

“Hank, would you like to accompany me to Jimmy’s bar next Friday evening?”

“What the hell for? Haven’t been there in weeks. Thought you hated that place.” he guffawed, knowing how little Connor enjoyed being in the same building as so many anti-android campaigners; the last time he had gone there to find Hank, a large man shoved him out the doorway before he even entered, spitting on his suit as he passed. Hank noted the tiny bubbled splodge on his jacket, pushing Connor aside as he stormed out of the door in search of the culprit. Connor knew better than to stop him, standing awkwardly at the bar for all of three minutes and thirty-seven seconds before the Lieutenant returned with slightly bloodied knuckles and slight perspiration dotting his brow.

Connor did dislike the place. But he did want to do something for his partner.

“Alright. Would you meet me at the park bench, by the bridge, next Friday evening?”

Hank smiled cheekily at the prospect of a date with Connor. He really was becoming a sap.

“A date, huh? Sure. I’ll be there at eight.”

Satisfied with the response, he turned from Hank and continued playing chords – but only the ones needed to play a certain song.

 The week passed unspectacularly. Work was work, Reed was Reed. Sumo however, was still an excellent boy indeed, pawing at Connor’s legs as he practiced the guitar, offering the occasional low bark when he paused. Friday came along quickly.

“Listen, I gotta go back with Fowler for a while. He wants to watch the game, but I’ll meet you after. Alright?” He was standing at his desk, collecting the few papers that were scattered there. Connor was happy that Hank and Fowler had rekindled their friendship – seeing Hank so busted up after the case last month seemed to have spurred them both on to spend more time together, as they used to.

“No problem, Lieutenant. See you soon.” He smiled as his partner squeezed his shoulder and left the office, before following him and Fowler out the door and back into Hank’s car. It was getting warmer, his suit stifling him a little as he drove home. He loosened his tie and removed it.

Passing a certain special Saint Bernard laid peacefully across the carpet, Connor made his way to the guitar, hanging neatly from the centre of the living room wall. As he practiced, he watched a video of the singer, the hologram-like images floating across his mind. He knew Hank loved this song, and in knowing this, he himself appreciated it more. After two hours, he had perfected it – and even if he couldn’t sing very well (something which Hank apparently couldn’t teach, or at least wouldn’t, after listening to three minutes of Connor melodically _talking_ his way through Nickelback’s “Rockstar”), he was sure Hank would love it.

Walking up to the bench, he could make out Connor’s frame, small but illuminated by a street lamp and by the lights across the bridge. He looked calm from the back, sat upright but not rigid against the bench, holding the guitar.

“Hey.” He looked around rather awkwardly, afraid to meet the eyes of the android sat in a black suit in the rapidly darkening evening.

“Hello, Hank. I have something to show you.”

The Lieutenant sat next to him as he continued to strum through “Fire Away” by Chris Stapleton. He loved that song. He moved his head with the music as he continued, before a frown crossed his face as Connor stopped.

“I’ve lost the chords from my memory. One moment.” Connor stumbled around with the chords for a while, seeming as flustered as the calmest man Hank had ever met could be. He stifled a laugh, realising that this was an important moment for him. He put his hand on his shoulder, before continuing to hum some of the tune, then sing the lyrics. Connor picked up the tune again with the guitar.

They were peaceful then – one playing, one singing, before the song came to an end. They sat in silence for a while, arms wrapped around one another, on the cold bench where Connor started to realise his deviancy, his humanity. And perhaps even when Hank had recognised it too.


End file.
